Page 57 of Saint

“For you.”

“And what do you want, Violet?” He rubs his thumb over my mouth, and I press my lips together. “Tell me the truth.”

I fight for breath, for strength. I fight for the lies I want to tell him. In his gaze is evil—all things that terrify me. But he knows as he presses against me what he wakes up inside. Darkness as twisted as he is.

A mental infection I’ve spent my life denying.

Saint is right. Maybe I’m trying to figure out why he’s cruel because I need to understand what made him a psychopath. But also, so I can understand how I see the depths of his sickness, and yet, I still want him.

If he’s twisted, I’m no better.

If he’s sick, I’m terminal.

Because I stop my struggle and dig my nails into my palms, letting his dark eyes pull my truth out.

“I want you.”

Saint smirks, his evil eyes not letting me go as he thrusts his hips forward and shoves himself to the hilt inside me. He releases my hands as I scream out in pain, and I grip his shirt like it can hold me here when I’m ripping in half. I push him away, then pull him toward me. Torn between what I want and what I shouldn’t.

He ignores my struggle—my screams, the tears leaking from my eyes—and thrusts in again, harder this time.

It doesn’t matter that I’m crying or that it hurts. Saint isn’t sweet for my first time. He licks the tear from my cheek and fucks me harder, forcing me to take every painful inch.

He buries himself deep, and the louder I get, the more ruthless he is.

“Scream for me, kitten.” He thrusts in again. “Fight me. Hate me. Try to escape this.”

I do. I claw at his chest as he rips my dress down farther. It tears down the center to my belly button, and his hips force the bottom further up. My body aches from the size of him, but he gives me no time to adjust.

Saint plants a hand on the center of my stomach and leans back on his knees, still half inside me as he drags his fingers down and rubs my sore pussy. Slowly he moves in and out again until he’s pulling out almost completely and wrapping his hand around his cock.

As he drives back in, he drags his wet hand over my thigh and up my leg.

Blood smears my skin as he paints me with amusement. A mess of all the ways he ruins me at his touch. How he unravels me with his existence.

“Stunning, kitten.” He grips my hip and pulls me to him as he thrusts in. “Does it hurt bleeding for me?”

There’s something cold in his gaze at his question. Detachment as he paints me with my blood. And if it didn’t hurt so badly, I’d probably feed the seed that plants inside me as he basks in my pain. I’d realize he’s devoidof all emotion, barely capable of being human. Interested only in the mess he’s made.

He shoves in, and I lose all thought—all breath. The initial sting is starting to subside, and slowly, something else flutters, building in my core. Pain fades as my hips start to rock with the rhythm of his.

“Saint.”

“That’s it, kitten. Your virgin pussy feels so good stretching for me.” He drives in harder. “My desperate little slut. I’m going to fill you up with my cum and watch it leak out.”

I swallow hard, realizing he’s fucking me without a condom, and this is terrifyingly reckless.

My fingers clench the fabric of his shirt, but when I tug at the bottom of it, he leans back, pulling away from me.

He pulls out, flipping me over on the bed, face down.

Tugging my ass in the air, he kneels behind me. And before I can adjust, he shoves himself back in.

From this angle, he’s deeper, hitting me where my insides can barely make room for him.

My heart is in my throat with every thrust, but he doesn’t relent. He grabs my hips and pulls me to him, forcing me to take every hard inch.

Behind me, I hear him spit, and then I feel the trickle as it lands on my ass. He glides his thumb through it, over my tight hole, and I can’t help but clench.

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